A Run and a Swim
by thinkwinkink
Summary: Charlie goes missing one afternoon, and Mattie leads the charge to find him, and she's determined to see him back safely. (Mattie x Charlie) (Will probably end up kind of fluffy.)
1. Chapter 1

"Lunch is on the table, Mattie," Jean called from the kitchen.

Mattie set her book aside and stood up from the couch as Lucien walked into the kitchen. The three of them sat down, before looking at one another.

"I thought Charlie said he'd be eating lunch here today," Jean said. Mattie glanced at the place set for him beside the housekeeper, the chair there currently conspicuously empty.

"Yes," Lucien put in. "He said he was going for a run by the lake, but that was at least two hours ago."

Mattie frowned. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and Charlie, she and Lucien were all off duty. She had been looking forward to spending time with the whole makeshift family together, and was a little put out that a spanner had been thrown into the works. Not to mention the fact that while Charlie was a fit young man, even he wasn't likely to run for more than two hours – he didn't jog by any means.

Jean let out an annoyed sigh, placing a tea towel over his plate to keep his lunch warm. "I suppose he'll be back soon," she said as she picked up her own cutlery.

Lucien began to eat, suggesting with a shrug, "Perhaps he bumped into someone he knows and stopped to have a rather long chat."

Mattie chewed slowly. The young sergeant had been in Ballarat for only a few months, had no family nearby and little occasion to make new friends. That hypothesis was unlikely to be correct, but she kept quiet. She had no suggestion of a more likely alternative.

They chatted amiably, and by the time they had all finished eating, Charlie still hadn't returned. Lucien looked at his watch as he dried dishes handed to him by Jean. "Still no sign of him, hey? That's nearly three hours, I wonder what he's gotten up to…" he mused.

Mattie bit her lip and walked out of the room. She skipped up the stairs, knocking on his door before gently opening it when there was no response. She hadn't been in here since he had moved in two months ago. The room was clean and tidy, the single bed neatly made, all of his clothes presumably away exactly where they belonged for there weren't any visible. There weren't any trinkets around the place, apart from shaving and hair supplies arranged on top of a set of drawers. The only really personal touch she could see was a small number of books haphazardly stacked on the bedside table, and a framed photograph next to it.

Mattie had only meant to poke her head in, to see if he was hiding up here or had left any obvious sign of why he had disappeared. However, she was intrigued by the starkness of the room, and the significance of the few items important enough to warrant their position. She walked into the bedroom, hesitantly at first, then with more conviction. The longer she took, the more likely it was that someone would find her snooping. And it was snooping, she admitted to herself, though she restrained herself from looking in any of the drawers or wardrobe.

She picked up the photo, taking note of its exact position. The frame was plain, lightly stained wood. The image it contained, however, brought a small smile to her face. A smiling woman, perhaps a head shorter than Mattie and noticeably thinner, stood in a garden, surrounded by four boys of varying ages and a young man with his arm around her shoulders, all clearly her sons. They all grinned at the camera, even the young man whose police uniform denoted his rank as senior constable. Charlie smiled up at her, an expression so open and content that she barely recognised him, though he the photo was only a few years old, she would have guessed. One of the boys, second- or third-eldest, she estimated, looked quite like the man she knew, a strong and trustworthy face and curly, dark brown hair. Her finger trailed over the glass. She wished there was a photo of the boy, about twelve she thought, where she could see if he had the same earnest, pale eyes as his older brother. The other boys looked too young to judge their likeness to Charlie, though they all had the same brown curls, even if the black and white photo didn't allow her to judge the similarity of the shade.

Mattie placed the photo back where she had found it, facing the bed so that it could be seen when one's head was on the pillow. Guiltily she made to slink out of the room, feeling like she had betrayed Charlie's trust. She paused though, warring with herself for a moment, then bent to look at the spines of the books also within arm's reach of the bed. Australian poetry, interrogation strategies, and the history of Ballarat were all topics covered. On top of the pile was a smaller, leather-bound book with nothing marked on the outside, most likely his diary. That was where she drew the line, turning on her heel and marching out of the room.

As she descended the stairs, Jean's muffled voice said something speculatively and Lucien laughed in response. She walked into the kitchen where the policeman's lunch still sat untouched and placed her hands on her hips. "I think something might have happened to Charlie," she declared.

Lucien straightened from his easy pose leaning on the bench. "And why do you think that?" he asked seriously.

She pursed her lips and frowned. "I don't know… I just have a bad feeling about this. He always comes back when he says he will, and three hours is far too long for a run, even a runner like Charlie," she said worriedly.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Well, he's probably fine, but how about we drive over to the lake and see if we can find him?" he suggested.

The pair were relatively quiet on the short drive to the lake, Mattie keeping an eye out for the runaway sergeant on the footpaths. They came to a stop in a carpark not far from where they had parked during the investigation involving the high school rowing clubs. Mattie got out of the car, walking a little closer to the shore, standing on the running track, turning in a slow circle. There were a few figures on the deck of one of the boathouses a bit further along, but Mattie ignored them, searching for a lone, pale runner with brown curls.

That is, she ignored them until she noticed how they seemed to be viciously struggling. Mattie was too far to identify any of them, but three men were wearing trousers and shirts, and one had shorts and a short-sleeved top on. They looked like they were towing the thrashing man towards the edge. His movement seemed to be hindered, as though he were bound. He had crimson stains on his sports attire. He was dressed like a runner.

The air was cold and quiet, the gentle breeze carrying his final yell of protest and the following splash as he was thrown into the water to Mattie effortlessly, leaving her in no doubt that the bound athlete was Charlie. She took off running toward the shed where he had been thrown in, sparing no thought for the men still occupying it. She vaguely heard Lucien's engine behind her, racing toward the shed, quickly passing her by. So too did the three men, who took off running. One limped, hopping more than running, and another's progress was slow and stilted as he held his side.

The car kept going, pursuing the culprits. Perhaps the doctor hadn't seen that Charlie had been tied up, and didn't realise the dire situation.

Mattie reached the shed and tore through it, hurtling to a stop at the last place he had stood. She searched the water, chest heaving, waiting for him to surface. Unbidden came to her the thought that this was how the loved ones and fans of the Goldman boy must have felt when it was he who was thrown into the lake, never to leave it alive. But Charlie's heart was fine. Perfect. Charlie wasn't going to die.

Not on Mattie's watch.

She didn't know how long she had wasted staring uselessly at the water or where Lucien was, but she threw off her coat and slid off her shoes as fast as she could. She cast her eyes over the water again, trying to pick where to dive in, but the murky depths offered no clues as to where her friend was.

With one last deep breath to brace against the cold, she jumped into the freezing water. The water stung her eyes but she forced them open as she dived below the surface, hands outstretched, searching. She came up for air, and dived again. And again.

The third time she surfaced, struggling to hold back a sob of desperation, she saw it. White, just below the surface, right near the edge of the water. Charlie's shirt. She kicked towards it desperately, glad they weren't in a river as Mattie wasn't a very strong swimmer and the current would have made it even worse.

She reached him, floating in the water where it was little more than a foot deep, and dragged the top half of his body out of the water. He was apparently unconscious, and cold as ice. Mattie didn't even entertain the idea that he could be beyond her help. She lay him on his side, moving as fast as her frozen limbs would let her, and untied the knots that held his hands behind his back. He had managed to mostly undo the knots, and the rope burns on his bloodied wrists attested to that struggle. As soon as she could slide one hand out, she put him on his back with arms by his sides. She adjusted the tilt of his head, feeling that he wasn't breathing, and began chest compressions. The adrenalin stopped the tremors that would have wracked her body otherwise, dripping wet, kneeling in the mud with an arctic wind compounding it. She paused to cover his mouth with hers, block his nose and force air down his airways. No response. She continued her resuscitation attempts, hearing Lucien's eventual cry of 'bloody Hell' from the top of the bank. Mattie took no notice, continuing her steady rhythm, hoping desperately for some kind of response from the still form beneath her.

This time, Lucien's alarmed voice came from right beside her. "Mattie, let me do it," he ordered.

She continued to throw her weight onto his chest for a few beats, teeth gritted and tears on her face, before she sat back on her haunches, surrendering control to the doctor. She had time for one, exhausted, gasping sob, while Lucien got in two compressions, before Charlie came to life beneath their hands. First, a weak cough, then, he rolled to the side, hacking and spewing water from his lungs. Mattie fell back, out of the way when he rolled suddenly, but reached out to stroke his dripping hair comfortingly while he gasped for air. When he quieted, he fell still on the grass, panting. Mattie was tempted to lie down next to him, she was so tired.

"We'd better get you both to the hospital. I dare say at least one of you will have hypothermia," Lucien said urgently, slicing the rope around his ankles with a pocket knife. "Right, sit up, Charlie. There you go," he soothed as he pulled the younger man upright, though he looked ready to faint and his lips were blue. Lucien pulled off his sopping white t-shirt, replacing it with his own, dry blazer. He then slung one of Charlie's arms over his own shoulders, dragging him to stand up and helped him stumble to the back seat of the car.

He then ran to where Mattie had left her things, grabbing them, before coming over to swing her up into his arms. "Mattie, you'll feel better if you can take off your shirt and put this on instead," he said, placing her down next to the car and hold her coat out for her to slide her arms into. He looked politely away while she peeled off her own drenched shirt, putting the coat over her thin undershirt. Charlie's eyes were closed as his head rested against the seat.

She slid in next to him, pressing against him to try to muster all the warmth they could. He put his arms around her and held her to his chest, her ear over the heart that beat once more, thanks to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Mattie napped in the chair next to Charlie's bed. She would only need food, water, and rest to recover from the ordeal. Thankfully, Charlie was only being monitored overnight and would be allowed to return home tomorrow if all went well. He had bad bruising on his sternum from the compressions, exhaustion, hypothermia, bad rope burns around his wrists and ankles, and had apparently copped a beating before being thrown into the lake. He should make a complete recovery, the medical staff promised, and Mattie knew they were right.

He had mostly slept for the seven or so hours since they had arrived, and over the course of the day, Mattie had moved the armchair close enough to his side to rest her head on his pillow and sleep beside him. She considered holding his hand but decided against it given the raw wrists and the sore-looking knuckles.

Apparently, Charlie had been running as planned when the group of three ambushed and overpowered him, but not before he had dealt a fair few hits to each of his attackers. For over an hour they had used him as a punching bag after tying him up, though he managed to free his hands once and got in a few more hits. This fit with Lucien's account of the trio, who he recounted as nursing multiple injuries. That had put a smile on Charlie's face.

Their exchanges had had to be brief given Charlie's fatigue, but he had concisely expressed his gratitude for their coming to his aid, and caring enough to come looking in the first place, in between vital details about the assault.

Lawson had come to hear the story and see to his officer's health. From their conversation hours ago, Mattie gleaned that two of them were interviewed by Davis during the investigation of someone called Thomas Sinclair, a local criminal who had several crooks under his command. Charlie had gathered the evidence against Sinclair and arrested him. This was a revenge attack for getting their boss locked up. Luckily, murder was a step up for those guys, and they were out of their depth, so to speak, and did a rather poor job, as evidenced by the calm policeman breathing evenly in the bed in front of her.

Jean and Lucien had left something like five hours ago, after the housekeeper had brought some food and comforts (including a change of clothes for Mattie), with a promise to organise time off from work for the pair of them. Mattie and Charlie had slept fairly solidly since then, Charlie waking up twice to ask for water for his damaged throat and insist that she could go home, that he would be fine alone. She refused to leave and he didn't force her. Nevertheless, five hours was a long time to sleep in such an uncomfortable position.

She was watching his peaceful face as he slept, her chin propped in the edge of the pillow, thinking of the photo in his bedroom. How close they had come to having to call his mother and tell her and his brothers that he had been drowned. Or maybe they wouldn't have found his body for some time, and could only say that he had gone for a run and never returned. She squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back the welling tears in her eyes.

When she focused on Charlie's face again, so close to her own, he was eying her sideways. Unexpectedly, he grinned. "You upset I made it?" he teased, his voice raspier than usual.

Mattie sniffled and rolled her eyes, but smiled, if a little shakily. "If I didn't want you to make it, do you think I would have ruined my wristwatch in the lake?" she asked, a little more steadily.

He turned his head to face her, still smiling. Mattie winced at the black eye and split lip the movement revealed, remembering why she had chosen to sit on this side while he slept. "Thank you, really. I'll buy you a new watch, I promise," he said, his face still holding humour despite its battered state at present.

She let her head fall sideways against the pillow, eyes roving over his face. She thought about how pale and fragile he could seem when relaxed, but that was at odds with the power, almost aggression, he displayed when he ran after a suspect or strength he revealed when adversaries tested him. He seemed so in his element as the quiet, sturdy character of the trustworthy policeman, yet sometimes his playful nature won out when he was away from suspects and witnesses and colleagues. He was difficult to pin down, Mattie thought, but more and more he became the cheeky boy who loved to solve puzzles and make fun while he was at home with her and Jean and Lucien.

She realised she was staring, and Charlie was staring back with an expectantly raised eyebrow. "Do you think of Ballarat as home? Or are you just… waiting to go back to Melbourne?" she asked quietly. He looked surprised, and Mattie supposed it was an odd time to pose the question, but it was out now. She looked at him steadily, waiting for his reply.

He made to roll onto his side to face her more completely, but hissed and fell back, in the end just shifting to get a better look at her while still on his back. "I don't know, really. I mean, you grew up in Melbourne, it's always going to be a bit sad to be apart from your home city and your family. I came here for work, and I was expecting to be going back after a couple of weeks," he explained softly. "On the other hand, the longer I'm here, especially after moving into the doc's house, the less I think I'll want to leave. So yeah, I think it's becoming home. But it's always a possibility that they'll call me back, so it may not be up to me in the end."

She nodded, caught off-guard by the depth and frankness of his response, even though the question was bound to be fairly intrusive to begin with. She understood what he meant, and was glad it didn't sound like he would ask to be transferred away from the town. Away from her, if she was being honest with herself, which was a major concern. The young nurse had grudgingly acknowledged his good looks and peak form soon after meeting him, and had grown accustomed to his presence soon after the doctor won him over. She supposed the hours the three of them had spent together piecing together the surviving film from the projection room fire marked the beginning of their friendship, as that was when she had (mostly) forgiven him for arresting her, and they had developed a rapport since then. She continued to stare into his pale blue eyes, lost in them and lost in thought, as she came to terms with her current feelings. She was fighting the urge to push forward and close the short distance between her face and the sergeant's. She could feel his breath gently against her of face, but she knew it was unkind to corner him while he was physically unable to escape her and felt indebted to her.

Instead, she made herself stand up, breaking the intimate bubble. "You're right, by the way. I should call Jean and tell her I'm staying here overnight," she said before striding out of the room, not giving him another chance to tell her how he'd be fine alone.

It was half past nine according to the clock she passed on her way to the phone at the end of the hall. It was Lucien who answered the phone, who sounded unsurprised by her intention to stay with Charlie. He said they would pick the two of them up at one o'clock the following afternoon, and with that they hung up. Mattie was strangely anxious to get back to the stable patient in the fully staffed hospital, but she had come to feel that he was her charge after pulling him out of the lake, reviving him, warming him up on the trip to the hospital and keeping vigil at his bedside. She felt calmed as soon as she saw him, eyes closed in respite with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

For the next hour or so – she couldn't see a clock from inside the room – she flicked through a magazine, tried and quickly gave up on reading a book, knitted two rows while struggling to restrain her usual humming, and tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep in the chair. She was trying to use a ball of wool as a pillow when a croaky voice piped up, "Not that I'm complaining, but how many more times do you think you'll move around in that chair in the next half hour?"

Charlie squinted at her in the darkness, and she scowled at him, whether he could see it or not. "Believe it or not, this chair is really not that comfortable. I hate to admit it, but you were right: this thing is making me wish I had gone home," she admitted at a murmur. "How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better, but I've felt a lot worse, too. I'll tell you one thing I don't feel, though," he grinned and made a show of stretching luxuriously, albeit carefully. "Cramped."

Mattie glared for a moment before standing with a pleasant smile. "I'm glad to hear it. I suppose there's room for two, if it's so roomy," she said.

He laughed, though he sounded slightly nervous. "You're not serious."

She picked up the blanket that Jean had left for her. "I am. Move over," she said without batting an eyelid.

"Mattie, I don't think it's–" he began, but she cut him off, now standing next to the bed.

"Move over. It's too late for me to go home, and I've been told I need rest. I won't be getting any sleep in that chair, so move over," she pointed out, managing not to laugh at Charlie's face, a mix of shock and petulance.

"This bed isn't exactly spacious, you know. And be careful, I'm covered in bruises," he complained, pouting and he gingerly shifted away from her until he reached the edge of the mattress.

He was right. Hospital beds were never luxurious, and Charlie's wide frame was going to make it impossible to maintain personal space. Even so, Mattie had to hold back laughter at the honest-to-goodness pouting, crossed arms and pushed out lips, being exhibited by a grown man and officer of the law who had managed to deal out a beating to three thugs at once and survived the encounter. The wild curls and hospital-issue pyjamas only made him look more adorable.

Sliding off her shoes, Mattie sat down at his waist – where he was narrowest and left the most space for her – before swinging her legs up and tucking them under the blanket industriously.

Charlie sighed loudly.

Now came the awkward bit. Or rather, even more awkward bit, where she had to work out how to lie down. Being shorter than him and placing her hips on par with his meant she may be too far to reach the pillow, and this bed was only one and a third Charlies wide. With a shrug, she lay back, trying not to jostle the bed overmuch. Half her back fit, and she barely touched the pillow.

Charlie turned his head and gave her a look that was a beautiful mix of annoyance, 'I told you so', and restrained laughter.

"Unless you plan to sleep that way, uncross your arms," she instructed, her discomfort the only thing keeping her awake at this point.

He lay his arms by his sides, having to wedge one between them. Mattie rolled onto her side, prodding him on the shoulder.

"What was that for?" he demanded in a whisper.

"How's that shoulder?" she asked in a murmur, receiving a shrug in response. Taking that to mean 'fine', she shifted forward and rested her head on it. She wiggled around slightly to get comfortable, then stilled, relaxing her body and feeling sleep pulling at her immediately.

Charlie lay stiff and unmoving for a while, before moving his arm to rest against her back and settled. He was respectable through and through, a gentleman, so no doubt had some qualms about the sleeping arrangements, but apparently was willing to make an exception under the circumstances.


	3. Chapter 3

Mattie awoke the following morning to the sound of gently clattering crockery beside her head. A nurse was delivering breakfast – including extra, presumably knowing she would have stayed the night – and was trying to place it on the bedside table without waking the pair on the bed.

"Thank you, Dorothy," Mattie whispered, fighting to keep her eyes open. Dorothy nodded and smiled before walking out of the room, throwing a look over her shoulder that made Mattie think she would be recounting what she'd seen to all the other nurses on duty.

Charlie hadn't been roused by the noise, even more tired than she was. His arms were wrapped around her, the embrace warm and comfortable, calling her back to sleep. She snuggled back into her position, tucked against his neck, breathing in his clean scent. She could feel him breathing and his heartbeat beneath her, the constant assurance he was okay. In response to her movement, he shifted slightly and made a quiet noise of contentment. She grinned sleepily as his hold tightened by a degree. Even if he protested while awake, he was apparently pleased by her presence at the moment.

Just before she sank back into the slumber she desperately desired, she noticed the clock on the wall. She lifted her head to read it, falling back onto Charlie's collarbone in defeat. She looked at the tray of food, and as she suspected, it was lunch rather than breakfast. Lucien was coming to collect the sergeant at one o'clock, and it was nearly twelve thirty now.

Charlie groaned, the vibrations of the low sound transferring to the length of Mattie's ribcage where they were pressed together. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to register the warm weight of a body on his side where she lay half on top of him. He looked confused for a moment, then polite. "Good morning," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

She laughed at his attempt to be nonchalant as he removed his arm. She sat up and climbed off the bed, throwing her blanket into the disused chair. He pulled himself into a sitting position and Mattie placed the tray on his lap, perching on the side of the bed. Charlie scrubbed his eyes again, then popped a grape into his mouth. He offered her the bowl of fruit salad casually, and she took a chunk of apple. They munched in comfortable silence for a while, before Mattie laughed quietly.

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"I love your hair," she said as seriously as she could.

He pursed his lips together in annoyance, running a hand over it. His hair was always curly, but usually schooled into a neat arrangement with product, which had been washed out yesterday. Though his part was still perfect and arrow-straight, overnight his hair had formed gorgeous, tight ringlets, softening his appearance overall. He looked adorable, to be honest. "Well, sorry I haven't had time to make myself presentable. You may not know this, but I had quite the ordeal lately," he said sarcastically.

She laughed, finishing the fruit salad. "No, really. It's very cute," she insisted, fighting to stop giggling.

"Cute? I'm twenty-six! You know, in a smaller country town, a sergeant would be the highest ranking officer. Cute," he scoffed disdainfully, pulling his fingers through his dark brown mop – though it looked more chestnut than usual, probably due to the lack of styling.

"No, leave it!" she protested, leaning over and ruffling it.

They were bickering and laughing when a throat was cleared in the doorway. Their landlord and housekeeper stood there, Lucien looking a little taken aback and Jean a little smug. After a beat a silence, Mattie stood up from her perch, mentally sending a thankyou skyward that she was not still lying there, to face the two older adults. Jean had a bag over one arm, which she strode forward and placed on the foot of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gravely. It was gratifying to see her motherly efforts had expanded to include Charlie, recently separated from his own mother. No doubt he took comfort from the attention, and it showed that Jean trusted him now. He was far more attentive to her than either of her biological sons, or even nephew Danny when he'd been around.

"Fine, thank you Jean," he answered as smoothly as he could, clearing his throat after he spoke.

"Mm, I'm afraid it may take another day or two to for your throat to be back in full working order," Lucien chimed in. Mattie found she didn't mind; his voice was deep enough to be calming, but not imposing, and smooth, normally. At present, less croaky than last night but not yet perfect, it had a raspy quality that she found rather appealing, too, kind of… seductive. She nearly tittered at the thought. Charlie was far too straight-laced to seduce anyone. He was more the 'handsome and upfront' type.

"And you, Mattie?" Jean said, snapping her out of her reverie, in a sharper tone. "You need your rest, and I'm sure sitting around a hospital room won't have helped your recovery at all."

Mattie gave an apologetic shrug, but knew it had been worth it. She had a sore neck from the earlier hours spent in the chair, but she had never had the experience of waking up in the arms of someone else, and sleeping in Charlie's embrace was definitely an occurrence she planned to repeat if she could contrive it.

"We brought you a change of clothes," the housekeeper continued, looking back at the young man in the bed, "So why don't you get dressed while we go and pick up the clothes you had on before and get the paperwork?" she suggested, ushering the others out of the room. Hopefully he would be able to dress himself despite his injuries.

 _(A/N: Sorry about the short chapters, I'm new to fanfiction and still working out how to make things work nicely :D)_


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie walked up to them, albeit stiffly, just as the nurse handed Lucien the discharge forms, which he duly handed to him. He was wearing a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, lacking a belt, jumper and coat to complete a customary Charlie ensemble. He hadn't changed his hair, no surprise, and Mattie very much liked the way he looked, like he was less guarded somehow. A flicker of pain registered on his otherwise calm face as he took up the pen to sign his name, before handing it back. The foursome then began ambling towards the exit and the car. Jean had the paper bag with the lake-water-soaked garments, and Lucien gently took Charlie's arm to help him along.

Mattie heard him let out a sigh as he settled in the back seat (an unusual expression of discomfort in movement usually absent from his lithe form), where the two of them sat for the short ride back to the Blake house.

"Oh, we called the station, and Lawson said you can have a week off, and to let him know later if you'll need more time. He and Constable Simmons wish you well, too," Jean said.

Charlie was surprised. "A whole week? What am I going to do for that long?" he wondered aloud. At least he didn't seem offended or something. Hopefully he would find some way to enjoy his little holiday.

"And you have three more days, Mattie, until you're expected back," Lucien added. The nurse raised her eyebrows but passed no comment. Three days seemed excessive given her lack of substantial injury, but since it was time to spend looking after her fellow lodger, she was disinclined to complain.

Charlie didn't help with dinner that night, spending the rest of the day sedately reading on the couch next to Mattie. He was reading Pride and Prejudice, to her surprise. He looked a little embarrassed, but said his aunt had given him a copy years ago and it was one of his favourites. They discussed it and come of the other classics they had both read, but mostly passed the time in quiet. He offered to make tea, which she insisted he allow her to do it, only to have Jean insist they allow her to do it.

The next day, Charlie didn't appear until almost midday, dressed but hair still left unchecked. He opted to read outside while it was warm, where the two women accompanied him for an hour, until Jean had some other task to address. Mattie stayed, and they chatted more than read. Today he had an adventure novel, and she a textbook from which she learnt little over several hours. They moved inside, helping Jean peel vegetables and then watching television until dinner. The bruises and all were healing well, according to the doctor, who demanded that Charlie let him check his condition. He retired to bed early though, and Mattie did too only an hour later.

The following day, being a Tuesday, meant the doctor had patients and then some kind of meeting in the afternoon, and Jean had a list of errands and a social call or two to make. She verified multiple times that her children-of-sorts would be fine, caring for themselves for a few hours until she returned. Mattie declared she was completely capable even if Charlie wasn't. He threw her a dirty look at that.

Again they sat in the lounge, apparently waiting for the sound of the door closing behind Mrs Beazley. Then in silence. After about five seconds, Charlie heaved a sigh. "I don't know what to read," he complained – his voice back to normal, she noted.

"What about the adventure novel?" she asked. He had claimed it was a very compelling read, and she didn't see why he would abandon it.

He frowned. "Finished it yesterday," he answered. He looked out the window, against which there was a gentle patter of rain.

Mattie raised an eyebrow. "You started it yesterday," she pointed out.

The piercing blue eyes met hers again. "I didn't sleep much last night. I read the rest of it then," he explained.

"Are you in pain?" she rushed, sitting up straighter with concern creasing her brow.

Charlie shook his head, a lock of hair falling against his forehead. "Nah, I just can't sleep when I don't do anything all day. It's like if you've got all this energy, and you don't use it, the day can't feel like it's over yet," he struggled to explain.

"But healing can be draining."

He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I know. And I feel tired now, but it's not a case of mind over matter, you know," he countered.

"Fair enough," she replied with a shrug, letting the point go. She wandered over to a bookshelf, reading out random titles and receiving gentle knockbacks from the policeman who watched the plants outside bob and sway in the rain.

Eventually he let a chuckle escape him after she suggested the works of A. D. Hope. She turned with a questioning expression. "Yeah that one. Do you remember that spy who had a poem in his suitcase, and Lucien obsessed over the book it was torn from? That's the book," he recounted with a wry smile.

Returning it with an amused grin of her own, she pulled the slim volume down and sat back down near Charlie. He rubbed his non-blackened eye (though that was more yellow-ish green now) with a fist in a childlike gesture, and then held out his hand for the book. She hesitated, then spoke. "You seem tired. How about I read to you?"

He looked shocked for a second, then blinked and nodded. He settled back into the cushions as Mattie cleared her throat and started to read. She drew one leg under the other so that she sat facing him more. As her smooth voice flowed through the first poem in the compendium, the man beside her relaxed. Two poems later, he was lying with his eyes closed and his head on her lap.

Between stanzas, she touched his hair lightly. He raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. "You haven't done anything with your hair," she noted quietly.

He shrugged, and she felt the tendons work in his neck and his shoulders push against her thigh with the movement. "Didn't seem much point when I'm staying here all day and it hurts to even wash my hair. I didn't think any of you would mind," he said, a frown pulling at his mouth at that thought. He really was opposed to behaving in poor form.

"It's fine. And you know what I think," she teased lightly, drawing a pout from his pale face, the expression making her forget to see the bruise or cut that marred the almost translucent skin. She accompanied her comment with an ever-so-gentle tug on a curl.

She went back to reading, the book in one hand and the other playing with the soft mane resting on her legs.

Soon enough, Mattie went back to work, a little dismayed that it took a serious chunk out of the time she could spend with the other border at her home. Charlie did too, as agreed, luckily the raw skin on his wrists having healed enough to bare long sleeves.

A month went by, and life returned to much the way it had been before the whole incident, except that the three men who had tried to harm him were now awaiting trial for attempted murder and a number of far pettier criminal charges.

It was Saturday afternoon, and light footsteps bounced down the stairs. Like that day weeks ago, both Mattie and Charlie had the time free, and Jean was knitting and listening to the wireless. Lucien had a few errands of some kind to run, but those were blissfully non-murder related. Charlie stuck his (fully-healed) head in the door.

"I'm just going for a run," he said, smiling and ducking back out.

"I was just about to start lunch," Jean called after him.

Stepping back through the door, he nodded. "I won't be gone long, only half an hour," he assured her, and strode away and out the door, having received Jean's approving nod.

Mattie felt restless, like the past was determined to repeat itself, with Charlie wearing much the same clothes even. She walked out the front door, seeking fresh air to help calm her needless worry. The sun was out, rustling leaves and lighting up Charlie's form where he stooped to tie his laces.

He gave her a quizzical look. "You alright?" he said, still crouched.

She bit her lip. She was alright, mostly, but she was frustrated underneath her more immediate concern. She wanted her friend to be safe, but she had also become impatient with respecting his vulnerable position in terms of pushing their relationship. Well, if he was well enough to resume his running, he could deal with what she had to say.

She approached him and he stood. She came a little closer than was normal, but he just waited for her explanation patiently. She took a breath to speak, but no sound came out. Her eyes left her twisting and untwisting fingers to meet his, and he stared back.

"Mattie?" he prompted gently.

The movement of his mouth was distracting, and she leaned closer without deciding to. He picked up on her intentions, whether she meant to do it or not, and his fingers came up to slide along her jaw and into her hair. Breath hitching, she closed her eyes as he leant down towards her. Their lips met gently, and Mattie put her hands around his neck as he kissed her slowly.

After a few sweet moments, he pulled back, smiled wryly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked teasingly.

She whacked him on the shoulder, stepping out of their embrace. He laughed, pecking her mouth again before jogging up the driveway. She watched him go, returning inside to her previous position, grinning the whole time.

"What are you smiling so much about?" Jean asked, a speculative expression on her stern features.

She pressed her lips together to try to hide her smile. "Nothing," she replied sunnily, failing completely to convince the housekeeper. Not that it really mattered, but she spent the next half hour with the kiss her own little secret, smiling uncontrollably at a book she couldn't focus enough to read.

 _(A/N: Welp, that's it. I'm not really happy with the flow of the second half of the story; it feels both cramped and like it drags, but guess who was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing. Hopefully it is enjoyable enough for someone, anyway. Yolo, amirite?)_


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